Here's the full transcript of episode 5 of Eerie Tales with Cosette: The Shadow That Sits – The Tale of Il-Ħeddiela
Imagine this: it’s the dead of night. Your room is cloaked in darkness, the air heavy, pressing against your chest. You’re awake, but you can’t move. Your limbs are leaden, pinned to the bed. And then… you feel it. A presence. Something cold and heavy, sitting on you, its weight crushing your breath. You try to scream, but your voice is gone. In the corner of your eye, a shadow stirs. It’s her. Il-Ħeddiela. And she’s come for you.
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| Il-Ħeddiela |
Welcome, brave listeners, to Eerie Tales with Cosette, where we unravel the darkest threads of Maltese folklore. I’m your guide, Cosette, and tonight, we venture into the chilling legend of Il-Ħeddiela – the night hag of Malta, a creature who haunts the sleepless and feeds on fear. Lock your doors, dim the lights, and let’s step into the shadows.
In the narrow, cobbled streets of Malta’s ancient villages, where stone houses huddle together under the watchful gaze of church spires, the name Il-Ħeddiela is whispered with dread. She is no mere ghost or fleeting spirit. No, Il-Ħeddiela is something far older, far more sinister – a creature born from the fears of our ancestors, a shadow that lingers in the liminal space between sleep and waking.
They say she is the wife of Il-Ħares, the guardian of abandoned places, a figure cloaked in a hooded robe with dog-like paws and no thumbs. Together, they are a fearsome pair, but while Il-Ħares watches over forgotten ruins and hidden treasures, Il-Ħeddiela preys on the living. She is the embodiment of old hag syndrome – what we now call sleep paralysis – but to the Maltese of old, she was no medical condition. She was real, and she was relentless.
Picture a Maltese village in the 17th century. The sun has long set, and the only light comes from flickering oil lamps or the pale glow of the moon. Families huddle in their stone homes, the air thick with the scent of carob and dust. In one such home, a young woman named Katrina lies in bed, her rosary beads clutched tightly in her hand. She’s heard the stories from her nanna – tales of Il-Ħeddiela, who creeps from the shadows to torment those foolish enough to leave their rooms untidy or their souls unguarded. Katrina dismissed them as old wives’ tales, the kind meant to scare children into obedience. But tonight, something feels… wrong.
As Katrina drifts toward sleep, the air grows heavy, like a storm about to break. Her eyelids flutter, but her body refuses to move. Panic claws at her chest as she realises she’s trapped, pinned to her mattress by an invisible force. And then, she feels it – a weight, cold and deliberate, settling on her chest. It’s as if a sack of flour has been dropped on her, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Her eyes dart to the corner of the room, where the shadows seem to writhe. There, in the darkness, she sees her – Il-Ħeddiela.
The creature is no mere woman. Her form is vague, like smoke given shape, but her eyes burn with a sickly yellow glow. Her hands, if you can call them that, are claw-like, lacking thumbs, scrabbling at the air as if eager to choke the life from Katrina. The hag’s presence is suffocating, her malice palpable. She doesn’t speak, but Katrina feels a voice in her mind, a hissing whisper that says, “You shouldn’t have swept the floor before bed.”
In Maltese folklore, Il-Ħeddiela is said to despise those who tidy their rooms at night, as if cleanliness before sleep invites her wrath. Some say it’s because she thrives in chaos, in the clutter of an unquiet mind or an untidy home. Others believe she’s jealous, a creature who longs for the warmth of a home but can never belong to one. Whatever the reason, Katrina’s mistake was sweeping her floor just before bed, unknowingly summoning the hag.
But there’s hope, even in the face of such terror. The old ones knew how to ward off Il-Ħeddiela. An iron key or knife placed under the pillow was said to repel her, for iron is the bane of all supernatural creatures in Maltese lore. Katrina, in her terror, remembers her nanna’s advice. Her hand, though heavy as stone, inches toward the pillow, where a small iron key lies hidden. The moment her fingers brush against it, Il-Ħeddiela lets out a guttural shriek, and the weight lifts. The shadow retreats, melting into the darkness, leaving Katrina gasping for air, her heart pounding like a drum.
But Il-Ħeddiela doesn’t vanish forever. She is patient and eternal, waiting for the next sleepless soul to torment. In villages across Malta and Gozo, stories of her persist. In Żejtun, an old man claimed she visited him every night for a week after he renovated an abandoned house, as if she resented his intrusion. In Għarb, a child swore she saw a shadow with glowing eyes peering through her window, only to vanish when her mother placed an iron nail under her bed. Even today, some Maltese avoid sweeping their floors at night, a lingering superstition born from centuries of fear.
Il-Ħeddiela’s tale is more than just a ghost story. It’s a window into the Maltese psyche, a reflection of our ancestors’ attempts to explain the unexplainable. Sleep paralysis, with its crushing weight and vivid hallucinations, was the perfect canvas for such a creature. But her connection to Il-Ħares, her thumb-less hands, and her hatred of iron tie her to a deeper, older mythology, one that blends Catholic faith with pagan roots. The Maltese have always lived at the crossroads of cultures – Phoenician, Roman, Arab, and Norman – and Il-Ħeddiela is a product of that melting pot, a creature who embodies the fear of the unknown and the dread of the night.
So, dear listeners, the next time you lie awake at night, feeling the weight of the world on your chest, ask yourself: is it just your mind playing tricks? Or is it Il-Ħeddiela, sitting in the shadows, waiting for you to falter? Keep an iron key close, and whatever you do, don’t sweep the floor before bed.
